


The Happy Angel

by sodas



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Alternate Universe, From Oscar Wilde's 'The Happy Prince', M/M, Many Mentions of Other Characters, No Character Names Used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:53:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodas/pseuds/sodas
Summary: Indeed, the man who fashioned the Happy Angel had hoped for him to be someone whom anyone could love. (A rewrite of Oscar Wilde's 'The Happy Prince'.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wilde's short story 'The Happy Prince' has come up [a](http://i.imgur.com/0x1uw0E.jpg) [few](http://i.imgur.com/x1IBf2E.jpg) [times](http://i.imgur.com/HeUhwlF.jpg) in Rebuild canon. (Images courtesy of [gladosdark](http://gladosdark.tumblr.com).) The actual story bears some eerie similarities to Kaworu and Shinji's relationship, so... here we are. I'm sure this is a silly endeavor, but I had it in my heart to see it through until the end. My rewrite uses only the bare bones of Wilde's story, but I hope the intended message makes it to you. 
> 
> You can read the original story, 'The Happy Prince', [here](http://fiction.eserver.org/short/happy_prince.html).

Overlooking the vast hollow of the GeoFront, poised against the shimmer of a lake, was the statue of the Happy Angel. His body shone with silver leaves, while his great wings were gold; his eyes were set with two deep rubies, and his chest bore a round piece of garnet, brimming over the low sweep of his robes. 

He was deeply loved; indeed, the man who fashioned the Happy Angel had hoped for him to be someone whom anyone could love. 'Certainly, he has a beautiful face,' admitted the Doctor. 'He is sleek as a cat.' But when she confessed this, she frowned and sucked on her cigarette. 'Yet he is only a boy,' she amended, 'and boys are quite unwise.' 

The Doctor's Assistant poured coffee into the Doctor's cup. 'If all boys were like the Happy Angel, I think I wouldn't dislike them,' she said. But she would have liked it even better if boys were like the Doctor instead. 

'But don't you think he's just too happy about nothing,' said a man down in the GeoFront, speaking to himself. What made him happy was his guitar, and as the Angel had no guitar of his own, the man felt uncertain about the Angel's smile. 

'Isn't he wonderful,' sighed the schoolgirls, 'don't you just want to marry him,' all except for one proud girl in particular, who didn't think she liked this commotion about the Happy Angel. 

'There's something off about him,' she muttered. 'And who would marry an Angel, anyway?'

Now into the summer, a small but unremarkable Magpie was summoned to the GeoFront. He had come all alone, and felt he truly had no one in all the world. Upon his arrival a beautiful woman had offered to care for the Magpie, but the cage she set in the window for him had put him into hysterics, and the seeds she fed him hurt his belly. He might have stayed despite this, but on top of it all, she was so vibrant that it frightened him. So he flew out into the open. 

As the Magpie wandered through the GeoFront, he listened only to any songs around him, and never to anyone's voices. He flew further and deeper into the city, until he realized there were no more songs for him to hear. 'Oh, what has happened now?' he said to himself, for he was often morose. He looked about and saw that everything was quite dirty, and the only nearby sounds were the clangs and rumbles of human enterprise. 'Who could ever sleep here?' the Magpie asked. 'Surely not me. I had better leave.' But when he turned he spied a little pool, and at the pool he spied a little Turtle-Dove.

He was surprised to see her there, and wondered at first if she might be lost, before he saw that she was taking her meal. 'How nice for her,' he thought, but just then he noticed that her meal was nothing more than a small and shriveled piece of fruit. The Magpie's heart could not withstand the sight of such a pitiful supper, and at once he whirled away. 

Night had already come by the time the Magpie rearrived at the pool, but he carried with him a bag of millet seeds. It was not a large bag, but it was far less paltry than what the Turtle-Dove had before her. 'Wouldn't you like these better?' he asked when he approached her and set the bag at her feet. 

The Turtle-Dove made no move to eat them, nor even to voice her gratitude, and the Magpie wondered if she happened to be rude. He recognized then that the other side of the pool was populated by more Turtle-Doves, who idled on that further shore like corks on water, even bumping into each other. 'Oh,' the Magpie exclaimed, now self-conscious. 'Would your family like some, too?' 

'No,' said the Turtle-Dove, speaking for the first time. The Magpie felt even more skeptical of her manners than before, until she cooed, 'Thank you.' The Magpie smiled for the first time in a long while, and he wanted to reach out and touch her wing. He thought right away that he loved her. 

'I will bring you a bag of seeds every day,' he told her. 'So you mustn't worry anymore. It's all right.' And true to his word, he never failed to feed her. 

But after some time of his caring for the Turtle-Dove, a windy day brought a message for the Magpie. That evening the Turtle-Dove met him at the pool, like always, away from her relations, and she watched him hang his head. While she watched him, she said nothing, but there was a peculiar feeling in her breast. 

'My Father has called me,' the Magpie said. 'First he called me to this city, deep within the GeoFront, and now he beckons me elsewhere. He commands that I meet him at my Mother's grave.'

'I see,' murmured the Turtle-Dove. She didn't know what else to say. 

'I won't be able to bring you seeds while I'm gone.' 

'Of course,' she murmured again. 

The Magpie hung his head even lower, fluttering his wings with an anxious ruffle. Then at once he looked up to the Turtle-Dove's face. 'Won't you come with me?' he cried. 'We can go together, and we'll have dinner together every day...'

The Turtle-Dove said, 'No.' She meant to stay quiet after that, but could hardly help but speak again when she saw the Magpie's crestfallen face. 'You have come to this pool to visit me many times,' she said to him. 

'Oh, I didn't mind,' the Magpie said, demure despite his sadness. The Turtle-Dove shook her head. 

'All of the Turtle-Doves must come to this pool,' she explained, 'and all of the Turtle-Doves must stay here.' As she watched the Magpie search inside himself for something to say or something to do, the Turtle-Dove knew the Magpie could never understand. It felt like something was hurting her; but despite this she thought it must be for the best. She said, 'You should go.' And she said, 'Good-bye.' Then she flew off to stay with her kin on the other side of the pool. 

'Oh, Turtle-Dove. Oh, Turtle-Dove,' the Magpie cried, and he left the pool. He thought his heart was breaking. But, after all, his father was calling for him. 

So he flew through the GeoFront, desperate to go but afraid to leave. He flew in every direction. He must have looked quite strange. 

Before long the lights in the GeoFront were dimmed for the duration of the night. There was of course no moon, and so there was little to see by: just street lamps. 'Well I can't go on in the dark like this,' said the Magpie, knowing full well it was an excuse; but he wheeled around looking for a place to stop anyway. Finally he came upon the lake, and at the edge of the lake stood the Happy Angel. The Magpie blushed, and he thought, 'It won't be a bad night if I can say here. Just until morning.' So he swept low and settled between the statue's sandaled feet. 

Right as he was ready to sleep, the Magpie felt a large droplet land upon his body, and he nearly fell over from shock and disappointment. He ruffled the water away from himself, and tried to nestle down again. But there was another droplet, and this one hit him square on the head. 'Oh no,' he sighed, as he did commonly. 'The GeoFront should be safe from rain, but here it is, and I will shiver all night. How is this happening?' He shook himself again. 'I wonder if the Turtle-Dove will be all right in this mysterious rain. But didn't she choose to stay at the pool! Oh, I need better cover than this,' he muttered, and made ready to take wing. But yet another drop came down, and this time the Magpie looked up. He meant to spot the ceiling, searching for its somehow-clouds, but instead his eyes found the Happy Angel's face. 

What he saw made him so surprised that he closed his wings and stayed put. The statue of the Happy Angel was crying! His eyes were overwhelmed with tears, and they flowed over his cheeks, dropping off from his chin and onto the Magpie's head. His silvery body looked sweet and shining even in the lacking light, and the Magpie felt as if he could share the statue's sorrow. 

'Who are you?' he asked. 

'I am the Happy Angel.' 

'But you are weeping,' pointed out the Magpie, 'even with a name like that.'

'Yes.' When the Angel sighed, the Magpie noticed how much nicer it sounded than his own sad sighs.

'Why?'

'When I was alive,' began the statue, 'I was a boy, but I was unlike other boys.'

'Indeed he is quite unlike other boys even now,' the Magpie said to himself, not exactly critically. But he didn't want to be rude.

'I didn't know this, however,' continued the Angel. 'There were many Angels, my siblings. Our mother was great and beautiful, and we perched upon her wings, our bodies the size of her feathers. We lived with her at a vast bright ocean, singing songs and playing in the light. But I was the littlest of my kin, and they never let me beyond the shore. They warned me of war and peril. I never saw another creature outside of the Angels. I thought I was happy with that, but my siblings started dying. They perished one by one, each becoming stars and moons in the far away sky.'

'You can't even see the stars in this hollowed out place,' thought the Magpie.

'Now I am here,' carried on the Angel, with a voice like a soft familiar song; 'and now I see many creatures, Humans and Cats, and Turtle-Doves and Magpies. And I have heard about their war and peril, and every day I watch them, and every day I fear for them. Do you know how simply a creature like that can die?' 

'Quite simply,' the Magpie said, uneasy. 

The Happy Angel's face was still sparking with tears, but his ruby eyes were gentle. He announced, 'To-night, we have met for a reason. Far off in this hollow GeoFront, two children are living and dwindling away. A little girl is lying in bed, waning in her illness, and her older brother does all that he can to feed her. But a bird has stolen his coin purse, and he cannot buy her medicine. Dear Magpie, sweet Magpie, I beg that you take a ruby from my eye and deliver it unto the steadfast brother. My feet are intended only for this stone.' 

'My Father has called me,' said the Magpie, 'and he is waiting even now. He means for me to meet him at my mother's grave. Perhaps you haven't seen it, but a graveyard is cluttered with gleaming headstones, and the ashes and bones of many ancestors hold communion beneath the earth. A grave holds a body. A body nests inside a coffin made of beautiful, glossy wood and lined with soft white silk. Many families burned many coffins, then picked through the bones and entombed them. But my Mother has no bones. There are no pictures and no ashes to revere. Seeing the stone at her grave is the only way I can know her.'

'Dear Magpie, sweet Magpie,' said the Angel, 'I ask only for one night with you, and for your services: please, the ruby. The girl's sickness has left her grey-skinned and bony, and it pains her brother to see her.' 

'I don't know anything about sisters or brothers,' griped the swallow; 'I don't know anything about girls or boys. They only lie and disappoint me—and I know I will disappoint them, too.' 

At this the Happy Angel looked so sad and so beautiful; but what added to his beauty is that he didn't seem disappointed with the Magpie, even after that. The Magpie thought he would do anything to keep disappointment off the Angel's face. 'My Father has called me,' he said again. 'But I will stay with you tonight, and I will do this thing for you.' 

'Thank you, dear Magpie, sweet Magpie,' said the Angel. 

The Magpie was frightened to pick out a ruby eye, but the Angel made no sound of pain or discontent; so the Magpie flew high and away, cutting straight across the GeoFront. 

He crossed the lake and its diamond caps. He flew past the pyramid, paying no attention to the old man who watched the arc of his wings, having loved a Magpie himself. He passed a garden, sectioned off into rows of lush greens, and the man who stayed there late to tend the fruit. 'They're growing well,' said the man with his watering can. 'That's joy for you.' 

Finally he came to the little home of the poor children. The sister lay in her bed, wheezing and whistling and wasting away. The brother had left the window open to try and ferry in fresh air for her, but he swatted at once at the Magpie when the Magpie entered the room. 

'You again!' said the brother, swatting and spitting. 'I don't have anything more for you to steal. My sister is all I have left.' 

The Magpie was quite alarmed, and dropped the ruby from his beak. It rolled onto the bedside table and gleamed. 'What's this? Is this for us? Why, I could buy all the medicine in the world,' cried the brother. He looked at the Magpie for a long time, and the Magpie looked back at him, and at last the boy held out his hand. The Magpie was afraid, but he hopped into the boy's palm. 'Well maybe a bird is better than I thought,' said brother to bird. 'You're a rightful fellow; I'll leave crumbs out for you.' 

And the Magpie flew away. 

When he returned to the Happy Angel, he felt very light, exhilarated. 'Don't you think it's odd,' he said to the statue, 'but I feel good that he held out his hand, and I feel good that I took it.' 

'It is because you have made a friend,' said the Angel. They were both quiet for several moments, until the Angel asked, 'Have you anything else to tell me?' And so the Magpie spoke to the Angel late into the night, about many sad and wonderful things, until he fell asleep. 

As he awoke in the morning, he felt a sense of dread and duty. 'To-night I must go to my Father,' he said; 'I must go to my Mother's grave.' He left to see the GeoFront one last time, for he knew not what his father might ask of him after he reached the gravesite. He passed the Doctor, who batted at him and sucked in smoke. He passed the proud girl, who was disgusted by birds. And he stopped in the evening to spy on the beautiful woman who had tried to give him a home. But he couldn't stand to see her weeping, so he flew off quickly. 

The lights were again all dim when he returned to the Happy Angel. 'This is the last time I may look upon you,' he said, 'for now I am away, to see my Father, to see my Mother.' 

'Dear Magpie, sweet Magpie,' said the Angel, 'I beg that you stay with me just for this night.'

'You said that before,' said the Magpie warily. 'And I stayed with you through the night, and I even ran your errand. But my Father has called me, you know.' 

'I am calling you now,' said the Happy Angel, 'here and now, I am calling you.' The Magpie could scarcely breathe for the beauty in the Angel's voice and face and form. So the Angel continued: 'There is a boy who is waiting to go and meet his father. His father is fighting in the war.' 

'Ah,' said the Magpie, 'the war,' and he felt quite cold. His own Father had many important things to do about the war. The Magpie had learned few things about his Father, but he knew this: his Father was merciless in all respects. Perhaps war suited him. 

The Angel agreed, soft and sad, 'The war. This boy, he wishes to enlist into the soldiers' ranks, so he may join his father. No one has spoken to dissuade him, for his mother is dead. But for now he is too young. All he can do is send his father photographs of himself as he grows into a strong young man. Now you see, sweet Magpie, this boy has no mother; he has no money with which to send his father pictures. He sells newspapers, so he might buy himself bread, but that is all he has. There isn't enough left over even for sending a letter. Dear Magpie, sweet Magpie, will you not take my other eye and set it in his hands, so he may show his father that manhood is nearly upon him?'

The Magpie was shaking long before the Angel spoke of his other eye. The war, the boy, the solace of a father, all of these things made his heart and body quake. But as the Angel asked to be relieved of his remaining eye, the Magpie thought he might start crying. His voice was a whisper and frightened and shy when he said, 'I cannot take that final ruby. I couldn't leave you unable to see.' 

'I have seen so much,' sighed the Happy Angel. He sounded quite content with that. 'I have been looking out this way for time enough that I don't mind if it ceases now. All I would miss to look upon is here, close to me, and that much is ample. Magpie, take the ruby, let the boy and his father rejoice.' The Magpie took the ruby and left for the soldier hopeful, all the while feeling like he would choke on the Angel's eye. 

The boy was drinking from a tin cup, when the Magpie found him. The boy's face was dirty, and freckled underneath that, and the Magpie wondered if such a boy would really become a man soon. 'Is a father truly worth so much,' went muttering the Magpie, 'that the Angel had to lose his only eye?' But although he felt spiteful, he knew he was awful for it. The Angel had asked for this. And so the Magpie left the ruby with the boy, and made his way back to the Angel (which in his mind he had started to call 'home'). As he went to lie at the Angel's feet that night, he thought about the boy's yearning for his father. And the Magpie thought he might never need a Father of his own. 

During the next day, the Angel was humming, and so it woke the Magpie. He did not get up once he opened his eyes. All he did, for what seemed like hours, was rest below the Angel and listen to his voice. At last he rose, and shook himself. The Happy Angel looked very happy indeed, despite his lack of eyes. 'Hello, dear Magpie, sweet Magpie.' The endearments sounded like lyrics in his mouth. 'To-day, to-day, you'll go and meet your Father, won't you?' 

'Oh, no,' sighed the Magpie. He shook himself again, and then nestled against the Angel's ankle. 'The boy, from before, he can do as he likes with fathers and that's enough of that, at least for me. Angel, I'll stay with you for always, and I'll watch the GeoFront for you. I won't leave you alone without any eyes.' 

The Angel's empty eyes, though void, seemed to be brimming. 'Magpie,' murmured the Angel, 'you told me so much about your Mother's grave. Don't you want to go and see it?' 

But the Magpie set his head upon the Angel's marble flesh. He announced, 'I shall not see anything which you cannot also see. Angel, let's stay here; let's listen to songs.' And so they listened to the songs straining up from the GeoFront. 

At last the Angel murmured to the Magpie one more. 'Dear Magpie, sweet Magpie, I beg you leave my side for now.' Immediately the Magpie began his protest, but the Angel, though gentle, was swift. 'I am far away from all the music, for I am far away from all the people. But before I died and rose up here, I heard many songs, and I know them by heart. The speech of human beings, though, is newer to my ears. They have special things to say each day, but there are things even I cannot hear. I have asked so much of you, dear Magpie, but I ask this of you now: go further into the GeoFront, and for once neglect the songs. Instead, listen to what every person has to say. When you return, tell me the stories you heard from them.'

'I'm not such a good storyteller,' the Magpie said. He felt uncertain of all of this. But the Angel told him, 'You are the only storyteller I need,' and so the Magpie went. 

He flew past the pyramid. The old man was murmuring about the beauty of Magpies. The Doctor was lamenting the death of her cat. He flew past gardens, where a man was tending fruits as young. He flew past schools and heard the stories wavering between friendship and isolation. He flew past homes and listened to all things joyous and full of sorrow. At the end of the day, he returned to the Angel. His wings were tired, but his eyes were bright. The Angel knew this, though he could not see it. 

'Angel! Oh, Angel. I heard so much I never thought I would. I will stay here and tell you everything.' And the Magpie spent the whole of the night telling stories to the Angel, who glimmered in faint lamplight with peace and adoration. When morning came the Angel asked, 'Which of these stories struck your heart hardest?' 

The Magpie had to think about this. 'Struck it? That's a painful thing,' he reasoned, and so sought back to the most painful story. When he thought of it, he told the Angel, 'I flew past a kitchen window. Inside the kitchen was a girl, and she spent her evening cooking. Dutifully, she feeds her two sisters, but above all does she desire to feed the love of her life.' This was something the Magpie could respect; to feed and be fed is an important thing. The Magpie's heart was thinking of the Turtle-Dove, whom he had fed in the past; but more than once had the Magpie wished he could bring dinner to the Angel. 'Of course, he doesn't need that sort of thing,' the Magpie muttered, and the Angel continued gleaming. So the Magpie drew himself up to carry on his story. 'She doesn't have enough to provide for that love of hers as well. I saw her cooking soup for her sisters, but she cried over the pot for how she wished to feed her heart's great yearning. In that moment, I wanted to fill her kitchen with goodness. But I could never do something like that.' 

The Angel was more radiant than the lighting of the city, and the Magpie could not explain what the Angel's rosiness meant. But the Happy Angel sounded happy indeed when he said, 'I think you could, and it would be a wonderful thing. Magpie... Dear Magpie. Sweet Magpie. I am asking something of you.' 

Where before was warmth, the Magpie now felt dread. 'I won't leave you again,' his heart was saying; 'Don't make me do it.' But his mouth said, 'What is it, Angel?' 

'Go to this girl,' said the Angel. The Magpie had known he would. The Angel continued: 'Take the garnet from my chest. Fill her kitchen with goodness. If you do this thing, you will surely be at peace.' 

The Magpie was beginning to cry. 'Your last and beautiful jewel,' he moaned. 'I can't do it. Oh, Angel, I cannot take the last of you.' But the Angel was still shining, seeming as if there could be a sun in this deep place. 

'Take the garnet,' the Angel said. 'Sit with me a while, if you must, but take the garnet to the girl.' And so the Magpie sat with the Angel, weeping gently and resting his head once more at the Angel's ankle. At last he rose up to the Angel, and took the garnet from his chest. 

He flew once more through the GeoFront, but this time he heard neither music nor stories. The only thing his heart deciphered was echoes of the Angel's voice: Dear Magpie, sweet Magpie. Only that gave the Magpie strength enough to find the kitchen window. 

The girl found the garnet some time after the Magpie left it. She gasped and turned quite red in her delight, and cried, 'I could cook a feast if I sell this; I could bring him dinner, and even enough for his sister, too.' The Magpie had filled her kitchen with goodness. But he did not see this joy, for he was again with the Angel, tucked between a marble wing and shoulder. 'Now you have no heart,' he sobbed, 'and I will never leave your side again. Angel, don't make me do it; I cannot do it another time.' But the Angel was calm, and his wing was soft, though it was made of gold and stone. 

'Dear Magpie, sweet Magpie, that jewel was not my heart,' he said. 'My heart has settled at my feet these past nights. Without that piece of garnet, I will grow weary, and I will fall asleep: but I don't mind a thing like that, if you will sleep here with me for this final night.' 

'This night, and all others,' the Magpie said. 'Will you sleep for long?' 

The Angel had never slept before; never once in life, nor during his time as a statue. But he knew his first sleep would also be his final. 'When I sleep,' he said instead, 'I will dream of you.' And he mellowed so much that it became a slumber, and the shine of his body dimmed like a dying lamp. 

'When you wake up,' the Magpie told him, 'we will hear more songs and stories.' 

The Angel never woke, unable to do so without his garnet. But the Magpie stayed nestled against him, for he had truly meant it when he said he'd stay for all other nights. The faint music from the GeoFront did nothing to warm his body. He only longed for songs from the Happy Angel's lips. When the Magpie finally died, he was glad at least that his body would stay close to the Angel's. 

With the heart and soul of these creatures dead, an Angel wiser than all other Angels looked upon their bodies. She saw the tiny Magpie in its dedication. She saw the statue of the boy who was not her own. Her eyes found them to be good, enough to be beloved, and she wished to hold them in her great white hands. She whispered to her darling, who lived at the edge of a pool, and told the darling to bring the dead things unto her. 

The Turtle-Dove flew across the GeoFront until she reached the corpses of the Magpie and the Happy Angel. She touched them gently, and led them to the wisest Angel. Neither the Magpie nor the Happy Angel ever wept again.


End file.
